Driven to Date (12 page)

Two lines formed between Ryan’s brows. “The defense attorney asked me to come.”

“Why?” I immediately asked.

“Would you really rather drive to San Francisco without me?” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over to my lap, laced his fingers through mine then brought my hand to his lips. “That hurts, buttercup.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” I couldn’t help cracking a smile, but it wasn’t lost on me that he hadn’t answered my question. Sigh.

I peered out the passenger window at the passing tomato fields, thinking it shouldn’t bother me to have Ryan along. I’d been dreading this meeting with Frank Wilson for weeks. The defense attorney was evil in a suit, the epitome of obnoxious, but I’d (somehow) maintained my professionalism throughout.

“You want to know why he asked me to come along.” He squeezed my hand, then turned in my direction. “I’ll be straight with you. He said that you refuse to negotiate a settlement, and he called Stan Corbett.”

My blood boiled. “
He
refuses to negotiate with
me
.”

“I know.” He switched on the radio. “But don’t kill the messenger.”

I flipped the radio back off. “Are you going to take the case from me?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But, Stan is friends with opposing counsel. So it’s a sticky situation.”

“I didn’t know that.” My eyes narrowed. “Frank has no leg to stand on, that’s what gets me. We wasted so much time at mediation. The mediator drilled him on making an offer. But he refused.”

“I’m sure you’ll bring him to his knees eventually.” He sounded matter-of-fact. “Or wipe the floor with him at trial.”

His compliment warmed my belly. “You seem pretty sure of yourself considering you’ve never seen me in action.”

He glanced at me briefly. “I trust my instincts.”

I turned the radio on, then watched Ryan with interest. He was his usual relaxed, confident self, driving with one hand on the bottom of the wheel. I couldn’t help but wonder when he’d needed to trust his instincts before. Maybe it had something to do with why he’d left his firm in San Francisco to move home to San Diego?

Maybe I should trust my own instincts with Ryan, because my heart sure wanted to.

An hour later, he pulled into the parking garage, found a spot on the fifth floor, then killed the engine. “Ready?”

I thought back to his statement that I would wipe the floor with Frank. It gave me a nice boost. “Oh, I’m ready.”

****

After two hours in the conference room with Frank Wilson, I was ready to throw something. He completely ignored me and the few times Ryan managed to bring me into the conversation, Frank immediately dismissed what I had to say.

“I’m not saying this case is without merit.” Frank looked across the table at Ryan. “I’m just saying you need to be reasonable about it.”

“Mrs. Somerset is eighty years old.” My voice was firm. “The poor woman lost her husband of fifty-two years
,
the love of her life and her sole caregiver because of your insured’s negligence.”

“You’re not taking his life expectancy into consideration. He was eighty-two years old and had been in and out of the hospital for years.” Frank winked at me. Actually winked like he’d scored some big point. “Who’s to say the doctor didn’t miss a stroke or something in the autopsy and he ran into my client?”

“There is no evidence to indicate that.” Remembering the tears that had streamed down Marie Somerset’s gently worn face, I took a breath. “None of your experts disputed the cause of death when I deposed them.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe they were too distracted by your pretty face.”

“Perhaps your supervisor should join us.” Ryan’s voice sounded calm, but his jaw muscles pumped. “Then we can get this meeting back on a professional level.”

“Didn’t mean any harm.” Frank chuckled smugly. “No need to get touchy.”

“That’s it,” I said, as Ryan and I stood in unison.

Ryan lifted the thick Somerset file off the table. “We’ve wasted enough time here. We’ll see you at trial.”

Frank’s brows rose, and he splayed his hands on the conference table. “You want to settle this case or not?”

“We can easily win at trial.” My voice was much calmer than I felt. “However, we drove an hour and a half per your request. If you’re going to make an offer, then make it now.”

Frank’s beady eyes bore into me. “Five-hundred thousand. Take it or leave it.”

“That number is insulting.” I mulled over the offer in my head. My client was sympathetic. The defendant had been drunk. They could easily get over a million. “One point five, Mr. Wilson.”

“Not for a man his age. His golden years were gone.” Frank shook his head. “Seven fifty. That’s all the authority I have.”

“Then go back to your insurance company and ask for more.” I glanced at Ryan, then nodded toward the door. “We won’t take less than a million three.”

Frank pushed to his feet, but I strode through the door without looking. Ryan and I passed the receptionist’s desk and waited for the elevator in silence.

I breathed slowly and watched the numbers above the doors light up one by one. Finally, the elevator arrived and opened with a charming
ding
.

We stepped into the empty elevator, and watched the doors slide closed. Ryan hit the button for the parking garage. He stood straight and stiff, and his jaw ticked.

“At least he finally made an offer.” I pointed out, trying to focus on the positive. “So, the drive down wasn’t a total waste.”

“He had no right to speak about you that way.” His voice was steel, his eyes pinched, and his jaw muscles worked back and forth. “Never in my life have I wanted to lay out someone that badly.”

I put my hand on his forearm. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” He peered down at me, and his hazel eyes softened as he leaned his forehead against mine. “It’s just—”

Ding!
The elevator doors opened, revealing a small group of people waiting to get on. We squeezed past them, then Ryan turned toward me. “Do you like Italian? I know a great restaurant in North Beach.”

“Sure.” I concentrated on my red heels as I walked, thinking about his heated expression in the elevator, and wondering what he’d been about to say.

Chapter Ten

The restaurant was packed and we were lucky to get a table inside. The bistro tables in front had looked charming, but after our meeting with the defense attorney, I was in the mood for some peace and quiet in lieu of the hurried waiters and patron chatter by the door.

The server set two glasses of Chianti on the red tablecloth, took our orders, then scurried off.

I lifted a glass, and took a sip of the spicy red wine. “This is delicious. Good choice.”

Ryan fingered the bottom of his glass, and stared at me. “I can take over the Somerset case. Let me.”

I scoffed. “Um, no. Why would you do that?”

His eyes were fired up again. “So you wouldn’t have to deal with Frank.”

“Do I look like a damsel in distress?” I asked, secretly liking this chivalrous side of him. “I’m going to make him eat his offensive remarks at trial by getting a fantastic jury verdict. It’s the least I can do for that sweet lady.”

Ryan shook his head like he couldn’t believe me. “Doesn’t his chauvinistic demeanor bother you?”

“There’s nothing I can do about what I can’t change.” I met his gaze. “Would you be happier if I cried?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Ryan pushed his glass away, and leaned forward. “I don’t understand how you can hide your emotions like that.”

“Years of practice.” My hand was inches from Ryan’s, and I saw him look down at it. “I only rely on myself.”

Ryan’s expression remained serious. “Is that why won’t you let me help you? Did you rely on someone who let you down badly?”

I sighed. “Something like that. . . It’s sweet of you to offer. But would you take over a case if this happened to another male attorney?”

He immediately nodded. “If an attorney in my department was receiving sexist treatment, then yes. I’d do something about it.”

I straightened in my chair. “You’re missing the point. I don’t want you to do anything about it. I’m not going to walk away from a bully. Even if he is a sexist pig.”

The server appeared, setting down a basket of bread. The smell of fresh sourdough filled the air. The woman turned, and headed back toward the front of the restaurant.

I lifted a roll of bread, and my gaze followed the waitress across the room as she passed by an impeccably dressed man carrying a briefcase. My eyes traveled up to the familiar face, the short, coffee-brown hair—the same color mine used to be. I gasped.

“What is it?”

I whipped my head around before the man could make eye contact. Then I sank down in my chair, and willed him not to see me. “It’s my dad.”

Ryan watched me curiously. “Why are you scrunching down like that?”

“This is not happening.” I hoped denial would make me invisible. I thrust my thumbnail between my teeth. I so did
not
want to see my dad. He’d driven my mom off and I know I shouldn’t take sides, but the woman had slaved for years to fund his fun adventures.

At least she’d seen the Grand Canyon. I wonder where she’d gotten off to next. . . .

Ryan leaned to his right, and peered around me with obvious interest. “Your dad lives in the City?”

“Suburb.” I clipped out. “I don’t know what he’d be doing here dressed like that.”

“What an amazing coincidence.” Ryan looked positively delighted. “Looks like he’s alone.”

I sank further down in my chair, and very slowly—so as not to call attention—twisted to my left. My dad was now seated at a table by the window, doing what I’d rarely seen him doing in my life . . . working.”

Seeing my dad had apparently made Ryan forget about the Frank Wilson discussion because Ryan now looked like his high-on-life self again. He smiled at me. “You should ask him to join us.”

I had to concentrate to form a non-clipped, hopefully casual sentence, because I didn’t want my dad further complicating my lunch. “Maybe. A. Different. Time.”

“How often are you in San Francisco? From the way I’ve seen you work, I’m guessing not too much.” He stood. “Want me to ask him for you?”

I weighed the consequences of my potential responses. If I said no, Ryan was sure to probe. But if I said yes. . . “Wait,” I said, but it was too late.

Ryan had apparently taken my lack of answer as a yes. I watched him maneuver around tables, and head over to my father. He turned over his shoulder and caught sight of me. I pressed my lips together and raised my hand.

Ryan and my dad had a short interchange with the server, before they headed back to our table. I sat up in my chair, smoothed the front of my red blouse, and took a deep breath.

Ryan took the seat across from me. “This is really great.”

I kept my face blank as my dad sat next to me, and turned my way. Brown eyes, with gold flecks. Just like mine. Irritation surged through me. How could he have traveled year after year, leaving my mom with all of the responsibility?

“Well, isn’t this an interesting surprise?” Dad had deep circles under his eyes as he stared down at me.

My heart tugged, even though I knew he’d caused the mess he was in. “Hi, Dad.”

Ryan reached for his wine glass. “What kind of business are you in, Mr. Parnell?”

“Please call me Ted.” He turned to Ryan with a smile, but his eyes looked vacant, and I wondered how much sleep he was getting. “I’m a lawyer, Ryan. Just like my little girl.”

“Not
exactly
like me.” I took a long sip of wine, swallowing years of pent up resentment. “Since you haven’t practiced in years.”

A pained expression crossed his face. “I’m doing contract work now. Full-time. I’ve left messages for your mother letting her know. Have you heard from her?”

Oh, great. We were doing this in front of Ryan? “Yes, she called. But not recently.”

He wrapped his hand around my forearm. “Where was she? Did she say anything about me?”

I exchanged a look with Ryan, hoping he was happy for bringing my dad into what was supposed to be our peaceful and relaxing lunch after an upsetting episode. “She was in Arizona. She said she’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”

And that she would
not
be calling you. . . .

“That’s right.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I should’ve taken her to the Grand Canyon. I should’ve taken her lots of places. But she never said it was a good time.”

I sucked in a deep breath, figuring I may as well address this now. “That’s because she was always working to pay off your last trip.”

Ryan set his napkin on the table, and his expression said he wanted to give us privacy for our family discussion. “Why don’t I give you both a few—”

Dad reached for Ryan’s arm. “No, stay. Please.”

Ryan slowly sank back down into his seat, brushing my leg as if asking my preference, and I nodded back indicating he should stay.

“Jill’s right.” Dad bobbed his head up and down, eyes turning misty. “I blew it with your mom and she left me. I don’t blame her. But I’m working to make up for that now. If you talk to her, will you tell her I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back, sweetheart? Please?”

I sighed, feeling sorry for him, despite myself. “Yes, I’ll tell her you’re working full-time.”

“I appreciate it.” He glanced at the server as she set our meals in front of each of us. “Speaking of work, how are things at your office? Did they fire that turkey who stole your job yet?”

Oh, yeah. That definitely topped off my day with a cherry.

Mortified, I rubbed my palm on my forehead, but Ryan kept that reassuring pressure of his leg against mine. “No, they are perfectly happy with him. In fact, he’s sitting right across from you.”

Ryan pressed his lips together, the corners twitching. “I see Jill’s told you about me.”

“Not your name, obviously.” Dad shook his head, then tossed me an apologetic look. “How long have you been with the firm, Ryan?” He forked his Caesar salad, took a bite and chewed.

Ryan didn’t look particularly upset that my dad had referred to him as poultry. “A couple weeks now.”